


Worse

by BlackenedThorne (BlueThorne)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Begging, Blood, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueThorne/pseuds/BlackenedThorne
Summary: When Nero's arm gets lopped off, he figures this is as bad as things can get.But things can always get worse.





	Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I watched the new trailer. This is going to be hilarious later if that turned out not to be Vergil cutting off Nero's arm haha.
> 
> Hey, future folks, go easy on me if the theories are wrong. 
> 
> This was based on a post by my pal Ziarenxolous who let me write this. Thanks, friend!

I liked to think I had a high pain tolerance, but that…

It was endless, like he’d ripped my arm off with his bare hands, like he was still ripping it off. With every hammering pulse of my heart, more blood rushed from the wound, and with every pulse, agony ate up toward my shoulder and into my chest. I had to force myself to breathe to keep my vision from turning black.

I must have spent a moment in darkness, though, because I found the concrete cooling my burning cheek. It was the first thing I could feel through the pain. Trying to focus, I blinked against my eyes trying roll back toward incoherence. I had to get up, had to keep myself from bleeding out. What was left of my right arm was forming a glassy puddle of red by my face, the blood pooling out toward me. With every forced breath, my mind clouded with the sharp metallic smell of blood.

As I tried to push up with my hand, an insistent weight against my spine kept me pinned. I forced my eyes to their corners and found that shadowy bastard hanging over me. He must not have been human - well, obviously not, from the way he took off my arm. Lines like divisions in stained glass ran through the too-white skin of his face. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips like a crack in the glass.

All I had left was my human hand, no weapons, no claws. Even so, I twisted my arm back at the awkward angle, wrapped my hand around his wrist and tried to tug it off of me. I must have been as weak as I felt because this widened his smile and got me nowhere. His hand let up only to grab my wrist in return, trapping my arm behind me.

“If you were going to finish me off, I would have preferred you do it before the whole arm thing,” I said. My voice rasped along with every breath, and my tongue stuck against my attempts to form words. Great. Just great. Even talking would fail me soon enough.

Not that it would matter if I had my skull crushed or whatever this sick fuck was up to.

With every flash of pain, I couldn’t help but writhe, no matter how close my shoulder was to dislocating. That pain would have been nothing. I would have been surprised if I could have felt it at all. But every part of me stilled as the weight of his body pressed along my back. My heartbeat trilled in a panicked warning at the heat of his breath against the back of my neck. I tried to thrash, frantic, anything to throw him off, but my useless fucking stump of an arm just slipped in my blood, smearing it further until it reached my nose and mouth.

I felt the bastard breathe a laugh against my skin as I was forced to turn my head to the other side. His hips pressed up against my ass, and of course he was turned on. Only a sick fucker like him could be. As if I wasn’t already feeling nauseous enough.

I’d felt helpless before, but not like this, never like this. The first time my arm had been damaged I still had my weapons. Back in that lab, when I was hanging inches from death, Yamato had answered my desperation. It wasn’t listening anymore.

When he kissed the back of my neck, a sob of a whimper tore from me before I could think. I didn’t want any false comforts or affection. Just pain. If there had to be more agony, I wanted all of it in the form of pain.

I wasn’t sure how much more I could take, though. Every piece of me felt heavy, especially my eyes. My movements slowed along with my breaths. Darkness tempted me from the edges of my vision.

“So this is how you get off?” I asked through a slur. “Should have known. I’ve met some sickos, but you’re-”

His hand slipped up beneath my shirt, and my spine stiffened. I must have still had the strength to tremble because my vision shook along with my breath. With a feather-light touch, his cool fingers traced across my stomach and chest. When he circled a nipple, I bit my lip and crushed my eyes shut. I could let myself pass out. The option was right there, an outstretched hand, an escape.

But then he could have done anything, and I wouldn’t have known.

Maybe I didn’t want to know.

When his nails sank into my chest and raked down, it was almost a relief. Pain. My eyes shot open again as I gasped myself back from the edge of consciousness.

Then I felt a tug at my belt, the buckle clicking as it came loose. Bucking my head back did make him release my pinned arm but only so he could grab my head and smash it back down to the concrete. “I’d rather you just kill me,” I snarled.

This time I heard him laugh, but his voice was more ragged than my own. It was like hearing a piece of paper torn in two. He spoke the same way. “I could make your death much worse. I could make you beg for this.”

“There’s no way in Hell,” I said. “Maybe you should prove it.”

He didn’t respond, but I was sure he was smirking, even if my vision was starting to fail me. If there was any consolation, the pain was starting to numb. Everything was.

But I could still feel his damn hand as it slid into my pants, under my boxers and wrapped around my cock. His hands were still fucking cold and too damn gentle, like he was doing me some favor. Even with the hand holding my head down, he traced soft circles through my hair with his fingers.

And his strokes were too careful, pausing every time I shifted for another moment of pressure. He was trying to find what my body liked.

I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. But damn if I didn’t want to.

“I’m not your fucking pet,” I panted as my face grew hot. I couldn’t imagine how I had enough blood to have a flush or erection, but my body was some kind of bastard like that. “Get it over with already.”

I didn’t figure I would survive much longer anyway. The world seemed thick and syrupy, a haze that reeked of blood.

I could just sleep, fall away and let whatever happened happen. It was sounding more and more tempting by the second. I could just give in.

“Go ahead,” that papery voice said as though reading my thoughts. “Give in.”

He squeezed my cock, and I gasped at the spike of pleasure mixed with pain. If it had to happen, I just wanted it to be over. I closed my eyes, focusing on his fingers tracing through my hair and the soft touch of his lips against my ear.

He could have been someone else. Yes, someone. Anyone. If I could have just… focused.

My breaths were heavy with sleep or pleasure, each stroke of his hand pulling me back from unconsciousness. I wanted it over. I wanted release.

“Finish it,” I panted.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, almost sounding sweet.

“Yes. Please.”

His laugh was anything but sweet. Its sadistic edge carried over to his movements as his fingers dug into my scalp. I felt my pants come off, the air icy against my heated skin. I heard the pull of a zipper and waited for things to get much worse, waited for pain to tear me in half and finally knock me out. But all I felt was heat as he ground his hips against me with every harsh stroke of his hand around my cock. Everything was so damn hot.

And I drowned in it, soft moans tearing up my abused throat with every exhale. I hated how good it felt, hated the tears in the corners of my eyes and the way my hips pressed forward into hand with every stroke. Every time I pushed back, I could feel his hot cock grinding against me.

As his breaths grew harsh, the pleasure drew faster and faster gasps from me. My eyelids fluttered as my eyes rolled back. Yes, just let it end. Yes.

“Yes,” I breathed.

I came with a weak, shuddering whimper, and after two more thrusts of his hips against mine, I heard a hiss that gave way to a low groan. Warmth coated my stomach and lower back. Disgusting.

 _Disgusting_.

For some reason, he pulled my pants up for me as I pressed my face into the concrete, waiting for sleep or death, whichever came first. As he stood, I collapsed. His footsteps echoed as though they could have been miles away. “Wait.” The word stuck like glue in my mouth, but I guessed he paused, a shadow surrounded by outside light in my blurred vision. “You’re… not…?”

“Do you want death?” he asked.

“No.” But I was supposed to get it.

“Good. Survive, Nero. Hate me. There are fates worse than death.”

He was right, damn him. As I let myself slip off, I realized the tears had long-since started to fall down my face.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing something like this. Hope it was alright. I mean, bad? I hope it was very bad and terrible.
> 
> Idk.


End file.
